Rule's Bride. Kat Martin
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“Then allow me to explain,” Mrs. Cummins said, thrusting her big bosom forward as she made her way closer to the door.
“This is Mrs. Dewar. She has crossed the ocean to see her husband. Now please go and find him and tell him that we are here.”
The man was shaking his head, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on dry land, when Violet stepped past him into the foyer.
“Where is he?” she asked firmly.
The butler looked helplessly around for assistance as the other two women followed her inside.
“I am afraid…I am sorry, but his lordship is not at home.”
His lordship? She thought his brother was the one with the title.
“When is he expected to return?” Caroline asked, speaking up for the first time.
“Sometime after supper. It could be quite late. Lord Rule rarely keeps me informed of his whereabouts.”
Violet shared a glance with Caroline, whose eyes had rounded at the reference to Rule as a lord. “My cousin and I will each need a room,” Violet said. “Please show us upstairs to our quarters, if you would.”
“B-but I can’t do that!”
Violet drilled him with a glare. “Why not?”
“Because I…because I…”
“Keep in mind that as his lordship’s wife, from now on you will also be answering to me. I hope you don’t mean for us to get off on a wrong foot.”
The old man’s pale eyes widened. For several long moments, he just stood there.
Caroline leaned toward her. “He doesn’t seem to know Dewar has a wife,” she whispered. This had not gone unnoticed by Violet.
“Which shall make an annulment all the easier,” she whispered back. “I am waiting,” Violet pressed.
The butler cleared his throat. “I’ll have Mrs. Digby, the housekeeper, show you both upstairs.”
Violet just smiled. She turned to their traveling companion. “You have done a very fine job, Mrs. Cummins. Caroline and I have both arrived safely, just as you promised. Which means your duties are ended.”
Reaching into her reticule, Violet pulled out the bank draft she’d had prepared to be given as final payment once they reached London.
The older woman looked uncertain. “I don’t know…You haven’t even spoken to your husband yet. And this man doesn’t seem to know who you are.”
Violet forced a smile. “My husband has always been a very private person. But you may rest assured he will be delighted to see me.” Now that was a bald-faced lie.
Mrs. Cummins reached out and tentatively took the bank draft Violet held out to her. “I could stay with you a few more days if you like.”
“No! I mean, that won’t be necessary. Caroline will be staying for the next several days until I am settled. Go and enjoy your family. That is the reason you traveled all the way to London, is it not?”
Mrs. Cummins smiled. “Well, if you’re certain…”
“I am quite certain. Thank you again for everything.”
“You have the address where I can be found, should you need me.”
Violet patted her reticule. “The information is right in here.”
“All right, then. I believe I shall do as you suggest. I am eager to see my mother and the rest of my family.” With a wave and a final farewell, Mrs. Cummins trundled out of the foyer. A footman was sent to bring in their luggage, and a few minutes later a woman appeared who looked very much like Mrs. Cummins—gray hair, big bosom, rounded hips.
“I’m Mrs. Digby, my lady. I’ll show you and your cousin upstairs to your rooms.”
My lady? It appeared marriage to the brother of a duke gave her a title, as well. Goodness, she had no idea. “Thank you.”
Their luggage was brought up to their rooms and as soon as Violet closed the door, a quick rap sounded and Caroline rushed in.
“My lady! I can hardly believe it. I thought Rule’s brother was the one with the title.”
“He is. I don’t know how it works. Rule never mentioned anything when he was in Boston.”
“Probably because Americans don’t use titles.”
“I suppose.”
“I wonder where he is.”
“I have no idea.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But he is certainly in for a surprise when he gets home.”
Caroline grinned. “Oh, my, yes—he certainly is.”
Two
Rule drained his brandy glass and set it on the table in front of him. He and Luke had made the social rounds, then ended the evening playing cards at White’s, his gentleman’s club. It was late and tomorrow he had work to do.
Rule slid back his chair. “I’m afraid I am out, gentlemen.” He shoved his cards into the center of the table. “Looks as though I wound up even—which, with Luke playing, I consider a win.”
Luke just laughed. “You’re headed home, then?”
“I’m done in. I’ll see you at the end of the week.” The Marchioness of Wyhurst was holding a ball in honor of her daughter Sabrina’s birthday. Rumor was the marchioness was determined to find the girl a husband, but so far the elegant blonde had refused every suitor who had dared knock at her door.
Rule blew out a breath, wishing he had sent his regrets, though he couldn’t quite say why. But Lady Sabrina had been a good friend to the Dewars, and it was, after all, the lady’s birthday.
He released a sigh, still uncertain why it was that staying at home was beginning to hold such a strange appeal.
Making his way to the door of the club, he called for his carriage and left the building. As he settled himself inside, he pulled the bow of his cravat, letting it drape around his neck, removed his collar and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. Leaning back against the squabs, he closed his eyes and drifted off for a bit.
The next sound he heard was the latch snapping open and the door swinging wide.
“We’re ’ere, guv’nor,” said the coachman, a burly man with a short brown beard who stepped back so that he might depart the carriage. “Good night, milord.”
He climbed to the street. “Good night, Bellows.” Leaving the coachman to his late-night duties, he headed for the door. Light spilled from a window in the drawing room and he thought that Hatfield must have accidentally left a lamp burning. The old man was getting quite old, but Rule wouldn’t fire him. Hat had been a loyal employee of the family for too many years.
He reached the door and was surprised when it swung open. Hatfield stood in the entry, gray hair standing on end, his eyes red from lack of sleep.
“What is it, Hat? I told you not to wait up.”
The butler straightened, looking more like his old self again. “You’ve a guest, my lord. Two of them, actually.”
Rule frowned. “A guest? I’m not expecting anyone. Who is it?”
“Your wife, sir.”
Silence fell in the entry. “My…my wife is here?”
Hat nodded, moving the strands of hair hanging over his wrinkled forehead. “Yes, my lord. She arrived from America late this afternoon with her cousin, a Miss Caroline Lockhart.”
“I see.” Of course he didn’t